Tumbling Down
by dancemagictv
Summary: Bravo team's talented medic and one of its best shooters are seriously injured on an op. The team is vastly outnumbered by enemy forces and Jason's left to deal with his downed men alone.


**For SEAL Team Week - Day 1, which had the prompts Jason or romance/pairing.**

**I'm not much of a shipper, so I decided to whump Trent and Clay as a means to torture Jason instead. So this is for 'Jason.'**

* * *

While he doesn't often like to admit it, Jason has a lot of fears.

Not phobias – Sonny has more than enough of those for the entire team.

These are deeper fears – the kind that wake you up heaving for breath and covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night when you let them inch too close to the surface.

The kind that come with being the leader of a team of men who are willing to put themselves in harm's way without a second thought.

Jason knows Bravo team has a reputation. For pushing the limits and for occasionally bending the rules, if not outright breaking them. Some of that is true and some of it is hyperbole that he doesn't bother to correct.

But they also have a reputation for getting the job done – an unmatched record of success, and that's the part that matters.

A lot of that success he can't take credit for. He doesn't consider himself to be the most valuable member of the team, not by a long shot. In fact, his skill set isn't as specialized as most of the guys. They all have their role to play, and they're all essential in different ways. That's why they work so well together.

Jason's damn proud of the team he's helped build, and he's convinced he has the five best guys the military has to offer working by his side.

Personally, one thing Jason can acknowledge he's very good at is compartmentalizing. It's probably the one thing he'd point to as what's made him such a successful team leader in DEVGRU. When things go awry, he's able to push the emotion away and focus on the objective. The objective of the mission and, most importantly, the objective to deliver his guys safely home.

It's a heavy weight he carries, and he doesn't take it lightly.

That risk is ever present, and it's what leads to those deep seated fears:  
\- the death of one of these men he cares so deeply for  
\- one of them being captured on a mission and not knowing how to find him  
\- permanent injury that there's no coming back from, for him or one of his friends

But there's one fear that stands out above the others – one of his men dying slowly in front of him and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Bravo team certainly gets in its fair share of trouble. They've had close calls – _very_ close calls – and they've dealt with significant injuries, though probably less than could be expected considering the situations they're regularly dropped into. But fortunately they have a competent medic who so far has always been able to get anyone injured and still alive delivered safely to proper medical treatment.

Miraculously, Trent has never been the one seriously injured.

It's a record they don't acknowledge out loud for fear of jinxing it, as childish as that may be.

And it's a record that holds up for years.

Until the day it comes tumbling down in an explosion in Afghanistan.

#####

They're about 30 hours into a surveillance and intelligence gathering mission. Bravo was specifically chosen for the high-risk op because of that unequaled record of success they carry. They're at the house of a low level member of the Haqqani Network who they know is traveling outside of the region, and they've gathered as much intel as they can possibly squeeze out of the place – from what he's been reading and eating to what he likes to get up to in the bedroom.

But their surveillance target is a house down the road, the residence of one of the emerging leaders of the group. Increased local activity leads command to believe something big is being planned, and they've been tasked with monitoring the comings and goings at the house for a period of 48 hours.

They arrived by foot in the very early morning under cover of darkness, the same way they're expected to leave two days later.

Except the morning of that second day brings a higher level of activity to the small street of worn out houses. And it immediately puts the team on edge.

"HAVOC, this is 1," Jason calls in to base. "There's a lot of movement on the street this morning. Can we get eyes in the sky?"

Blackburn must hear the unease in his voice, because he immediately agrees to call in ISR without any questions.

"Okay, let's get to it," Jason instructs his team, pushing the creeping feeling of trepidation to the back of his mind. They have a job to do, and they're going to do it. That's why they're here.

He pairs them up to continue their surveillance. Ray and Brock take one upstairs bedroom window while Jason and Sonny take the other.

Trent and Clay are down at street level – taking photos from behind a thick, seven-foot wall that surrounds a courtyard in front of the house. The old concrete barrier has perfectly placed deep cracks to allow for a discrete observation of the street. It's the position from which they've been getting their best shots.

About an hour in, Ray comes over the radio. "Boss, I'm starting to get a bad feeling here. They seem to be gathering at multiple houses now."

Jason has noticed the same, and just as he's about to call in to HAVOC to check on the status of that ISR, his radio comes alive again.

"Bravo 1, this is 4. I see three men checking out our pos with binoculars. I think they know we're here."

Well, shit.

If their targets know they're here and decide to do something about it, Bravo team is vastly outnumbered.

"HAVOC, where's that ISR?"

"20 mikes out, Bravo 1. What's the situation?"

"I think we're blown. How far is our closest QRF?"

"About an hour. How do you want to proceed?"

Jason takes a beat to calm his nerves. It could be nothing – paranoia and lack of sleep getting to them. But he knows himself better than that. And he knows his team better than that. Their instincts are usually right.

There's no back door, as the house juts into a mountain. They can't bug out the front in the daylight and the cover of darkness is nearly 11 hours away. If they get pinned down here in a firefight during that time, there's no escaping on their own.

His eyes shift to Sonny at his side. The Texan gives him a deliberate nod, and his decision is made.

"HAVOC, it looks like things are developing on the ground. We could use some assistance."

"Copy that, Bravo 1. Mobilizing QRF."

Fifteen minutes later things have quieted down significantly and there are children playing with a soccer ball in the street. Jason is just starting to think maybe he overreacted when a shot zings through the window, barely missing his head.

"Fuck," Sonny staggers back, taking cover behind the wall next to the window frame.

And then all hell breaks loose in a barrage of bullets, tangos emerging from the doors and windows of the buildings nearest their position like ants converging on an abandoned picnic.

"HAVOC, this is 1. We're taking heavy fire," Jason gets off before positioning himself to return the shots.

"Ray, the windows," he yells, when he sees men at the higher vantage point zeroing in on Trent and Clay's vulnerable position behind the front wall. The two Bravo members are fully engaged with the enemy and don't realize the danger from above. Jason yells at them to get down, and they both go low, into a protective crouch.

Ray takes the most immediately threatening men out quickly, and Jason's attention turns to getting his two most exposed members back into the house safely.

"Bravo 4, Bravo 6, hold for cover fire and then haul ass back into the house. Understood?"

"Copy that, Bravo 1," Clay responds. "I'd rather not hang out here longer than necessary."

They're just about to make their move when Brock yells "RPG!" at the same moment Jason spots the man with the launcher.

The tango has a bullet in his head a split second later, but it's already too late, his dangerous cargo has been released.

Time slows down and Jason watches in disbelief as the explosive travels straight for Trent and Clay's position.

The moment it hits, time catches up with itself in an almighty bang, with a massive cloud of fire, dust and concrete. And his men who are stuck in the middle of it.

"NO!" Sonny yells next to him, but it sounds muted to Jason's ears, far away somehow.

Through the fear and fury-filled fog that's spreading around his brain, Jason tries to tell himself they're fortunate it wasn't a direct hit, instead landing at the base of the front of the wall. But that's a small comfort, because most of the wall explodes inward to envelop the area where his men were just standing, hunched protectively against it.

The firefight continues, and Ray quickly and efficiently takes out the next man who tries to pick up the rocket booster.

"Bravo 4, Bravo 6, do you copy?" Jason yells into the radio, knowing the chance of a reply is slim, but unable to see what's going on through the haze of debris.

Once the dust finally starts to settle, things are relatively quiet. Jason can hear some small fire coming in their direction and his brothers returning fire, but he directs his attention to his men down in that courtyard.

Clay is sprawled prone and half buried under rubble from the wall, his face not visible from Jason's angle. His gaze shifts to Trent, where a growing pool of blood is mixing with the dirt at his side, and Jason can't tell where it's coming from.

His biggest concern is the absolute stillness. These are two vibrant, active men, who a moment ago were fighting and kicking complete ass, and now they're just…still. And it's terrifying.

"Trent, Clay, do you copy?"

There's nothing in return. Not so much as a twitch from either man.

Jason wants to run to them. He knows the rest of the guys do too, but they're still taking fire, and all immediate concentration needs to be focused there. Wiping out this group of tangos is the only way they'll have any chance of helping their downed brothers.

There's nothing else they can do. They've already called in their QRF and it's going to take them at least 40 minutes to arrive. That's certain to be the longest 40 minutes of their lives. If they aren't all dead before it's over.

"We need to get out there, Boss," Sonny says and Jason can hear the waver in his voice broadcasting how scared his friend is.

"Keep your head in the game," he barks back, knowing it's an order for himself as much as it is for Sonny.

The firefight seems to go on for ages. Every time it starts to diminish in intensity, it picks right back up again.

Jason has never found himself in a real-world torture situation, but he can't imagine it would come close to the agony of seeing his teammates in such a vulnerable, unprotected position with absolutely nothing he can do to help them. The stretch of distance across that courtyard is completely exposed, and there's no hope of getting help to them while the enemy is still engaged.

"Bravo 1, this is HAVOC. ISR is on target. There appear to be eight fighters remaining in front of your location."

Something from the wall catches Jason's eye, and he swivels to see movement coming from Trent. His hand is scrabbling weakly through the dirt, like he might be looking for his weapon.

That's shortly followed by a clear attempt to lift his head.

The problem is, there's less than four feet of height left in the wall in front of him to shield from the incoming fire.

"Bravo 4, hold your position," Jason barks into his radio.

The man doesn't seem to hear, continuing to shuffle clumsily in the dirt, then reaching back as if trying to pull his pack from his back. He's clearly addled, not realizing his pack isn't there anyway. It was at the base of the wall when the explosion struck. Trent doesn't have the range of motion he's looking for, and he flops around in his attempt, blood soaking through his clothes.

"You hear me, Bravo 4? Hold your position."

Then he starts trying to get his knees under him to lift up, and Jason feels terror like he's never felt before surge through his veins as his friend's head nearly rises to the height of the remaining wall. He knows if he breaches past it, they're all going to watch helplessly as he's shot dead right in front of them.

"_Shit_. Trent, stay down!" he shouts into the radio.

That seems to finally get through somehow. Trent collapses back down in the dirt, but he's only still for a moment before he starts to shimmy forward on his belly.

"What the hell?" Sonny says. "What's he doing?"

"He's trying to get to Spenser," Brock responds, and Jason knows immediately that it's true.

And he can't let it happen.

"Stay still, Trent. That's an order," he commands firmly.

There's still no movement from Clay.

If he's alive, it's actually a blessing that he's so still, seemingly completely unconscious. Through the blasted wall, he's likely in direct view of the enemy. Any movement would undoubtedly result in a hail of deadly bullets. Their lack of interest in him means they probably think he's dead. And the more time that goes by, the more Jason thinks there's a good chance they're right.

Trent continues to shuffle some, but his movements become sluggish and less frequent until he goes completely still again, curled on his side, facing away from them. And there's far too much blood surrounding him.

"HAVOC, how do we look?" Jason asks as he realizes they've taken out all of the fighters in sight.

"Reinforcements are a few blocks away, Bravo 1. If you're gonna do it, act fast."

"Okay, let's go. Ray, you stay on over watch."

They sprint down the stairs and out the door and race to their fallen brothers. Sonny and Brock work to dig out Clay, while Jason rolls Trent to his back.

The blood is coming from his left arm and side, but Jason doesn't spare any more of a glance than that, pulling him up in a fireman's carry and hurrying as quickly as he can back into the cover of the house.

He lays him out on the floor and is checking his pulse when Blackburn's voice rings through again.

"All Bravo elements, you have what appears to be 10 men quickly coming up on your position. Get inside now."

Jason looks out the door to see Brock and Sonny still working frantically to free Spenser, Cerberus yanking at the young man's exposed pant leg with his teeth, trying to pull him to safety.

They aren't leaving him out there a moment longer. Whether he's alive or dead, they _aren't_ leaving him there.

Jason pats Trent's chest and then runs back out to join the others just as they're clearing Clay of the debris. Sonny is crouched down at his head feeling for a pulse.

"He's alive," he says with relief.

Jason knows it's dangerous to move a man in Clay's situation, but they have no choice. They're out of time. If they try to do this properly, they're all gonna end up dead.

Jason grabs the kid's arms while Brock picks up his legs. Sonny does what he can to hold his neck stabilized as they high tail it back to the house.

"Brock, back upstairs," Jason directs as soon as they settle Clay on the floor next to Trent. Cerberus let's out a mournful whine but follows his handler up to the second level.

Jason scrambles for his pack and grabs his tourniquet to tie off Trent's arm, which is still bleeding sluggishly onto the dusty wooden floor. The man groans as he pulls it tight, his eyes slitting open before closing again.

Their med bag is outside. It never leaves Trent's side, and Jason didn't have time to look for it when he brought them in. So that means they don't have any significant supplies. He looks around for something to use as a compress for Trent's side, and settles on a thin blanket that's draped over a nearby chair. It looks dirty, but he doesn't have much of a choice. An infection is inconsequential if Trent bleeds to death on this floor.

He hears Sonny calling Clay's name, trying to get him to rouse. The Texan's voice raises higher and more frantic the longer he tries without a response.

The firefight starts to kick up again outside and Jason feels the panic truly start to set in as he leans as much pressure into Trent's open side as he can manage.

He's always liked running with a small team. He finds that men work more seamlessly together when they have fewer numbers. Their bonds are stronger and they almost develop a sixth sense, able to communicate without words. That's definitely true of his team.

But they are stretched _way_ too thin right now.

"HAVOC, status on our QRF?" he asks desperately.

"20 mikes out, Bravo 1. They'll be arriving in tactical vehicles from the south."

"Do they have medical?"

There's a pause before Blackburn returns with "They have a medic, but nothing specialized. What are we looking at?"

"Uh, Bravo 4 is bleeding significantly from wounds to his arm and side. He's unconscious but responds to pain. Bravo 6 is unconscious and unresponsive. Probably a head injury. Maybe internal bleeding? _Jesus_, I have no idea, Eric."

He's so far out of his element.

The intensity of the fight increases again, and Jason clenches his eyes shut, feeling the situation start to overwhelm him. He knows Ray and Brock need backup. It doesn't matter how good they are. No two men are capable of holding off a force like this alone.

"Sonny, go," he says reluctantly.

"No, Jace," the man pleads immediately, like he knew the order was coming. "_Please_."

Jason's eyes shift to the hands Sonny has resting gently on Clay – one at the pulse point in his neck and the other rubbing soothingly on his chest. It chokes his throat and makes his eyes sting.

"If we're overrun they're dead anyway," he finally forces out. "_Go_."

Sonny takes a long look at Clay and Trent, but doesn't argue any further before running a hand across Spenser's forehead and reluctantly running upstairs.

Jason knows he should go too. The only useful thing he's doing right now is putting pressure on Trent's side, and it seems like most of the bleeding has slowed. Based on the lack of color in the man's face, that might say more about the limited amount of blood that's left in him than about any of Jason's medical ability. There's not really anything he can do for his fallen friends at this point except monitor them.

So he knows he should go. Be useful.

But he just can't pull himself away. If one of them dies, the least he can do is make sure their team leader is there with them when it happens. That someone who cares is there to witness it.

So much for that ability to compartmentalize.

Obviously Jason never wants any of his men to go down, but for it to be one of his best shots and his medic at the same time – in a situation like this? It's the cruelest scenario of all.

"Spenser?" he asks hopefully, not expecting a response and not getting one.

Jason rubs Clay's sternum, hoping to elicit _something_, but there's nothing. Not even a flinch or a flutter of the eyes. He drags his eyelids open. His pupils are big, and they react to the light, but not by much.

It has to be a head injury, and that's the scariest thing Jason can imagine. Because he doesn't know what to do. How to help.

"Come on, Clay," he gasps out. "Don't do this to me."

He gently moves his hands behind Spenser's head, at the base of his neck, and spreads his fingers out slowly.

As he feels above the younger man's right ear something shifts in a way he's damn sure it's not supposed to, and he has to swallow down the bile that suddenly tries to escape his throat.

"Damn it, Spenser," he sighs.

His hand comes away with blood and he quickly reaches for the pulse in the kid's throat again, to make sure he didn't unintentionally kill him. It's still there, though he's pretty sure it's slower than it was just moments ago. But he's still breathing, and Jason will cling to that, because it's all he can do.

"QRF is 10 mikes out," Blackburn says, and Jason wars with the hope that they might make it and dread that they don't have that kind of time left.

Trent groans, and when Jason looks at him, he sees the very thinnest line of his eyes peering out, radiating pain and confusion.

"Hey Trent, you hear me?"

"Clay?" the injured man asks through chattering lips and a slight cough. Blood trickles out with the faint sound, teeth already stained red.

They all have medical training, the Navy makes sure of that. But Trent's knowledge far exceeds what the rest of them possess, and Jason feels like he's drowning. He desperately wants to ask for Trent's help. For him to look at Clay, tell him what he needs to do for the younger man.

But he can't. All of Trent's energy needs to be focused on keeping himself alive. If he knows how dire Clay's situation looks, he'll overexert himself, and Jason knows that will end badly.

"He's okay," Jason lies. "Head injury I think. But he's alive."

Trent tries to muster up the energy to shift over, and Jason forcibly holds him down.

"Stop. Trent, _stop_!"

"But -" he's cut off with another cough, this time spraying blood across his chin.

"Here," Jason says, gently grasping his uninjured arm and pulling it across the distance to meet Clay's, settling Trent's fingers on the pulse point of the younger man's wrist.

"See? He's alive. Now you keep your fingers there. Tell me if his status changes. That's your job, got it?"

That seems to do the trick, and Trent calms. His eyes close again, but he continues to lightly hold onto Spenser's wrist.

Blackburn announces the arrival of their QRF and a moment later, the din of the fighting outside reaches its highest intensity yet as the new forces join in.

Just as Jason starts to think they might have a chance of getting out of here, Ray's frantic voice bursts over the radio.

"RPG!"

He has just enough time to throw himself across Clay and Trent, offering what little protection he can as the blast rips through the entrance to the building.

_Please, please_, is the last thought he has before everything goes dark.

#####

"Jason?"

He feels the painful rumble and jostle of a vehicle.

"Boss, you hear me?"

Sounds vaguely like Brock's voice, but he can't be sure.

Then awareness is gone again.

#####

He can hear the indistinct murmur of voices around him, but he can't make out what they're saying. He can decipher the tone though, and it's distressed, agitated.

He knows he should be worried too, and he is. He can feel that pit deep in his stomach. But he can't remember why.

And then he's out again.

#####

When Jason finally comes to actual awareness, it feels like someone is trying to pry his skull open with a crowbar, and he's afraid to open his eyes for fear of increasing the pain. He spends several minutes just working to control his breathing, listening to the piercing beeps of the machines around him.

When he does eventually manage to crack his eyes open, they settle on Ray, sitting next to him with his head in his hands.

Several minutes go by, and he continues to watch his best friend. He'd think the man might actually be asleep except for the tension that's clearly visible across his shoulders and the light, occasional tap of his foot.

Jason is content to remain in the quiet, and he takes the opportunity to search his brain for what brought him here.

It comes back in pieces. The mission. The fighting. The explosion.

All of it is a blur.

But what's not a blur is the image of Trent and Clay, dying on the floor in front of him. He remembers that vividly, but then it all goes dark, like someone turned off the film. He needs to get Ray's attention, to ask about his men, but he can't manage to make a sound.

Eventually Ray raises his head, eyes staring blankly across the room, and the only word Jason can come up with to describe the look on his face is _haunted_.

That scares him even more, and he puts all the effort he can into a wordless groan.

Ray's eyes dart to his, brow creased in worry.

"Hey," he says, and he doesn't exactly look or sound relieved that Jason's awake. Which means Jason isn't his biggest concern.

"You have a pretty good concussion," his friend says, "but otherwise you should be okay. Gonna take some time."

He starts to nod his head but then thinks better of it.

"Are -"

"They've both been airlifted out."

That means they're _alive_.

He keeps staring at Ray, silently pleading for more.

"Trent lost a lot of blood and has some internal damage. Spenser has a skull fracture. He woke up briefly on the ride back. Knew who Sonny was, so that's a good sign. They've put him into a coma to monitor his brain swelling. The doctors are 'cautiously optimistic.'"

Ray finishes with air quotes, and his voice doesn't carry much conviction.

Jason closes his eyes. It doesn't sound good, but it's better than what he would have imagined based on the last time he saw his friends. It's something to work with.

"That was too close, brother," Ray says softly – _brokenly_ – and Jason wonders what all that time was like for him, stuck upstairs, unaware of what was happening with his brothers and feeling the responsibility of holding the enemy at bay until help arrived. "Way too close."

Jason does manage a nod this time, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Get some rest," Ray says, exhaustion soaking his voice. "Sounds like they'll send us home tomorrow."

Jason's asleep before he finishes the sentence.

* * *

**I know these are meant to be one-shots, and technically this is. But I may come back to it for a Ray POV later this week if I have time to write it, because I don't have anything planned for his day.**

**So for now it's complete, but we shall see.**


End file.
